Another Empty Bottle
by Lyrical Ballads
Summary: Evy always says that I'll drink myself into an early grave if I don't take care, but the old girl doesn't understand that when a man gets bored, a bottle is the best way to ease the tedium.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Mummy_ or the quote used below.

**Author's Note: **So, this little oneshot is kind of experimental. And odd. But I was in a Jonathan mood and felt like writing something different from the usual.

* * *

**Another Empty Bottle  
**

"I drink when I have occasion, and sometimes when I have no occasion."  
- Miguel de Cervantes

* * *

_Somewhere in Cairo  
10:00 AM_

Oh, my aching head. My _aching_ head. Feels like I've got a camel sitting on top of it, or an elephant, or an enormous beast with razor-sharp teeth. And those teeth are clamped firmly onto my skull.

Where the bloody hell am I, anyway?

Let's see... drapes over the window, pictures on the walls, thin blanket, nice soft pillow, nice soft _body_ breathing next to— Oh. Yes, that's right. Nice looking girl, though I can barely see with this beastly headache pounding away. Lovely golden-brown hair, full pink lips that I _must_ have been acquainted with last night, and not a stitch of clothing on.

Ah, yes. Just the way I like a girl.

Perhaps I'll just lie here for a while. She won't mind, will she? She's fast asleep. And a chap deserves his rest when he wakes up feeling like his head got caught under an anvil.

Besides, I know she fancies me terribly. Or at least I think she does. Hard to remember when last night is such a blur... No, wait, I believe I met her in a bar. Yes, that sounds about right. I met her in a bar, told her that I'm fabulously rich, all the usual rot, and after a few drinks we ended up here. A fine end to the evening, if I do say so myself.

If only I could remember her name. Now what in blazes _is_ it? Does it start with a C? An S? An H? A—

Oh dear, is that a knock at the door?

Now who on earth could _that_ be? And where the devil are my trousers?

Ah, here they are. No time to waste, then. Hopefully she won't wake up as I slip across the room and open up a window—

Oh, damn and blast. Go back to sleep, will you? There's nothing to see here!

Good, good. Now if only that bloody racket at the door would let up, I might have a chance at getting rid of this headache. Is that the door cracking open? Good God—

_Ouch. _Why does the ground have to be so _hard_? I'm going to be bruised and aching for days now! I can't believe all the hardship I've suffered because of a girl whose name I can't even remember.

Did it start with an M?

And why is the sun so appallingly bright? I keep telling Evy we should move back to England where the sun has the decency to hide all day long, but the old girl won't hear of it. Says Egypt is in her blood or her soul or some nonsense, and that she'll never rest until she finds some silly old book.

Hmph. If I wasn't such a fantastically good brother, I would have sailed back to London years ago.

By Jove, I think that girl's name started with an R!

* * *

_The Carnahan home  
6:00 PM_

Dear God, I'm bored. I've never been so bored in all my life.

Evy is tucked up in her bedroom with a book, of course. The old girl is _always_ reading. Easy enough for Evy to keep herself amused when she has her dry old library books and mummies for company, but what is a fellow like me supposed to do with piles of free time on my hands?

Good thing I've got this cup of tea to keep me from going batty. It does feel quite heavenly.

Not to mention the rum that gives it a much-needed kick.

Can't have a good cup of tea without pouring a bit of rum in it, that's what I always say. I've spent a long, hard day doing absolutely nothing and besides, the rum bottle had looked awfully lonely on its shelf in the liquor cabinet.

So lonely, in fact, that it can't hurt to take a swig from the bottle every now and then. Just a swig, mind you! And only after I've taken a few sips of tea.

_Sip, sip, sip._

_Swig._

_Sip, sip, sip._

_Swig._

Ah, now this is delightful. Who need books and mummies when such a fine cup is in my grasp? Why, I ought to find a charming little apartment of my own and become a bartender, maybe invent a few drinks of my own.

But no, no. Bartending is far too much work. Who wants to _work,_ anyway?

This rum really is superb. Marvelous, in fact.

_Sip._

_Swig, swig, swig._

Evy always says that I'll drink myself into an early grave if I don't take care, but the old girl doesn't understand that when a man gets bored, a bottle is the best way to ease the tedium. Boredom can't banish itself, after all! And I'm so _frightfully_ bored, all day and every—

Well.

It looks as if my tea is growing cold. That's quite the misfortune, isn't it? Nothing worse than an Englishman with a cold cup of tea on his table.

_Swig. Swig. _

Who needs tea anyway?

* * *

_The middle of an alley  
2:30 AM_

What a night! What a bloody _stupid_ night! A man can't even _breathe_ in this city without some miserable sod taking offense. Why I ought to—

Oh, but what's the use?

I suppose I'll just lean against this wall and wait for these bruises to stop paining me. What kind of people would rough up a poor, innocent fellow and toss him into a filthy alley? I only cheated a _little_ bit at cards!

And failed to pay my debts for three weeks in a row.

And kissed another man's wife.

But still, what kind of people would do such a thing? I always knew that Cairo was full of rough characters, but this blasted city is going to the dogs. To the _dogs_, I say. Not quite sure what that expression means, exactly, but Cairo should be ashamed of itself for the ill treatment I've suffered this night. Why I _ought_ to—

Dear me, I'm tired. What time is it? Guess I could pop back into the pub and ask for the time, but who knows what kind of trouble that would lead to?

No, no. I'll just... continue to lean against this dirty wall and keep a distance from that heap of garbage, and that ragged cat, and that old Arab fellow who's asleep over there. At least I _hope _he's asleep. Looks a bit dead to me.

Well, no matter.

I think I've still got my— Ah, yes! Here it is! My old friend the liquor flask, the most faithful companion a man could ask for. And there's still quite a bit of brandy left.

That's really all a man needs when he's got nothing else to give him pleasure in life. Oh, I've got the dearest sister I could ask for, and a nice fancy house, and I _do_ manage to win at cards once in a while, but here I am in all my lack of glory: beaten up, cast out, and sharing an alley with a mangy cat and a dead Arab.

Unless he's asleep. I _do_ hope he's only asleep.

My, where did all the brandy go? I could have sworn I had a full flask and now there's hardly enough for a mouthful! Did I _really_ drink it all down?

At least I can't feel my bruises anymore.

And that cat is almost charming, if you squint at it.

I say, I think I'll just... rest here a while, amongst the dust and the squalor. Sleep it off until morning. Wait for another day.

What a wretched fool I am.


End file.
